


To Earth, From Sky

by ryukoishida



Series: Letters from the Sky [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Airline AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a cliché London double-decker keychain from Haruka’s first trip as a licensed pilot. Since then, every time he flies off, he’d always return with a variety of keychains for Makoto. Eiffel Tower. Statue of Liberty. Sydney Opera House. Nagisa finally confronts Haruka and convinces him to do the thing he should have done a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Earth, From Sky

            “Haru-chan, over here!” Nagisa waves him over as Haruka pulls his black suitcase behind him and heads his way, nose wrinkling in irritation at the childish nickname.

 

            “You really need to stop calling me that, Nagisa,” Haruka sighs, stopping before the blond-haired man, “I’m a First Officer now, and if any of our co-workers heard that nickname, they’ll never respect me ever again.” Haruka’s frown doesn’t have any effect on Nagisa what so ever; he throws a casual arm around the pilot instead.

 

 “But we’re off duty,” Nagisa points out. “Anyway, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You earn respect through your attitude and piloting skills, right? I mean, just look at those flight attendants over there,” he nods at the small group of young women dressed in the turquoise uniform of their airline, looking as vibrant and fresh as ever, as if they had just stepped out of their home first thing in the morning instead of having worked within the tight space of a metallic tube for the last twelve hours. It’s one of the mysteries of being a flight attendant, Haruka used to think.

 

“They probably don’t care about whether or not you have a ridiculous nickname. In fact, I’m willing to bet that they’d even enjoy calling you that – outside of work, if you get my drift.” Nagisa has the nerves to throw him a mischievous wink, and then turns to the girls with an innocent, boyish grin on his face to wave at them.

 

The girls greet them back with a combination of giggling and a call of “Nagisa-kun, Nanase-kun” before making their way past them, still stealing occasional glances at the two men and talking quietly amongst themselves.

 

“What’s in a name, First Officer Nanase?”

 

“Why do I feel like you’re mocking me just now?”

 

“Come on, let’s go check-in at our hotel and then get something to eat,” Nagisa pulls on his sleeve while Haruka inaudibly mumbles something about getting his uniform all wrinkled, to which Nagisa merely responds with a more insistent tug.

 

-

 

            “How many keychains is it going to take for you to finally confess your feelings?

 

            Haruka coughs, water finding its way down the wrong pipe. When he recovers, wiping his mouth with a napkin and glaring darkly at Nagisa, he chokes out a weak, “What?”

 

            “Honestly. You’ve bought him what – the double-decker, Big Ben, Tower Bridge, London Eye, Buckingham Palace, and Tower of London? I think you’ve brought Mako-chan all of London’s famous landmarks by now,” Nagisa has the decency to actually look worried.

 

            “Your point?” Haruka looks away.

 

            “Please,” the blond rolls his eyes, “You’re not fooling anyone, maybe except yourself.” He sends Haruka a sympathetic glance that Haruka feels he doesn’t deserve. “Those flight attendants we just saw? They keep asking me whether or not you and Mako-chan are an item. Even some of the pilots in the company have asked me – I don’t know if they’re just being gossipy or they’re genuinely interested in your relationship status – but it’s getting a bit over the top.”

 

            “You’re too popular for your own good,” Haruka tells him, taking a careful bite of his BLT sandwich.

 

            “And you and Mako-chan are too pretty and too oblivious for your own good,” Nagisa counters flawlessly. “Do you know how difficult it is for me to fight off girls who want to make Mako-chan their perfect boyfriend and boys who just want to – how shall I phrase this more delicately? – bed him?”

 

            “What the hell?!” Haruka shoots up from his chair, sending his utensils flying off the table. When the patrons around them give him the evil stares, Haruka bends down to pick up the fallen objects more quietly, red in the face and too embarrassed about his outburst to look at anyone in the eye.

 

            “Oh, don’t be mad, Haru-chan,” Nagisa pats his arm soothingly when he sits back down. “If it’s any consolation, there are plenty of boys and girls who want you, too, but…”

 

            “That’s not why I’m mad!” The middle-aged man from the adjacent table looks like he’s about to use the newspaper in his hands to whack Haruka over the head for making such a ruckus again, if his shaking arms were any indication. Haruka shrinks into his seat but his eyes are on fire.

 

            “Give me a list of all the people who have mentioned wanting to – um, wanting Makoto in that way,” Haruka mutters fiercely, the napkin in his fist limp and forgotten.

 

            “It’s too long,” Nagisa shrugs nonchalantly, finishing the last bite of his pasta. He grins at the dark-haired man as if they are sharing a deep, dark secret, “And you said you don’t care.”

 

            “I’ve never said that,” he stares down at his half-eaten sandwich, his appetite lost. “It’s just…”

 

            “Just what?” Nagisa’s expression softens, all traces of teasing from before gone. “What’s stopping you?”

 

            What _is_ stopping him? Before he left for London for his pilot training, didn’t he make a promise to himself? Didn’t he swear that the day he’s able to fly – on behalf of himself and his best friend – the day he’s realizing both of their dreams, he would finally tell Makoto how he feels?

 

Makoto keeps blaming himself for being a weakling because he’s afraid to fly, but sitting safely inside a café in a foreign city so far away from everything he’s accustomed to, Haruka knows that he’s the cowardly one.

 

He spends more time on a plane and in other countries more than he does in his home country; he takes the time to pick a keychain every time he stops at new places or revisits familiar cities, thinking – like an ignorant, selfish child – to himself that Makoto must be able to tell his true intention.

 

Haruka is never good with communication; it’s not that he’s especially afraid to reach out, and it’s not even because he finds it too troublesome. He just learned, from a young age when his parents left him to fend for himself, that the more you care about and invest your emotions into someone, the more it hurts when everything falls apart. Like his family did years ago.

 

So, home was never a home to start with, and Haruka was fine with that because he had Makoto. The Tachibana family took him in as if he was one of their own, and Haruka will always be grateful.

 

But back to the issue with communication and how awful Haruka is at it.

 

“Mako-chan won’t be waiting around forever, you know. If you don’t tell him now, sooner or later, he’ll get snatched away and you’ll only have yourself to blame,” Nagisa’s tone is uncharacteristically serious.

 

“But he promised,” Haruka sounds unsure, finger tracing the condensation on his glass of ice water. “He promised he’d wait.”

 

“And how long do you expect him to wait for you? Do you think it’s fair for him to wait until you’re finally ready to make a move, Haru-chan?” Nagisa’s cerise irises are stern and gleaming. Despite his height and usually cheerful personality, the man is capable of being terrifying when he wants to be.

 

“Nagisa…”

 

“The longer you drag it out, the more painful it’ll be for Mako-chan,” he says quietly. “Do you _want_ him to suffer?”

 

“You know that’s the last thing I’d want for Makoto.”

 

“Then you know what you should do when you go back, don’t you?”

 

-

 

            “So that’s what I said to Haru-chan back in London,” Nagisa explains to Rei, the blond snuggling closely against his boyfriend’s chest as they lay on Rei’s bed. Nagisa and Haruka have just returned to Japan, and as soon as their flight had touched down a few hours ago, Haruka shot out of the office after completing all his paper work in record time without any further explanation.

 

Rei wraps a protective arm around Nagisa’s smaller frame without a second thought and hums in response – Nagisa can’t tell whether it’s in agreement to what he did or not.

 

            “Shouldn’t you let them deal with the issue in their own pace? We’re outsiders after all,” Rei glances down at Nagisa, his signature solemn expression clear on his face.

 

            “It’s high time they resolve the sexual tension between them,” Nagisa gestures wildly with his arms, and adds, “Sometimes, the strain is so palpable and awkward that I can’t stand staying inside the house when it’s just the two of them in here.”

 

            “Yeah, I can see what you mean,” Rei chuckles, ruffling Nagisa’s locks, which causes the smaller man to wriggle out of Rei’s arms with a grunt and turns around to plant a kiss on the man’s lips.

 

            “Oi! What was that for?” His glasses are askew from the blond’s sudden onslaught, but Nagisa takes care of it by taking it off all together and places it on the bedside table. He climbs onto Rei’s lap with a playful smirk and predatory glint in his eyes. “N-Nagisa-kun?”

 

-

 

            “Haru! I came here as soon as I got off my shift. Did you wait for long?” He’s huffing by the time he reaches the rails beside Haruka, his arms dangling on the edge as his shoulder bumps slightly against Haruka’s with every deep breath he’s taking.

 

            “Sorry to call you out so suddenly,” Haruka apologizes, his low voice almost getting caught in the ferocious wind, seemingly more violent upon the height of the airport’s observation deck. His grip on the railing tightens as he pauses while waiting for Makoto’s breathing to return to normal. Now that his best friend is standing so close to him, words are getting stuck in his throat again. He can’t use the distance as a shield anymore.

 

            Haruka hates it – hates how fiercely his heart is beating right now, hates how tense his nerves are wound up, hates how difficult he feels to just _say the damn words_. But above all, he hates how much of a coward he’s being. He’s afraid; there’s no denying it.

 

            Confessing to Makoto means the possibility of having the words thrown back at him. If he stays silent, he will always be able to stay by his side, a loyal friend through and through.

 

He hasn’t grown up at all, has he? It’s just a convenient excuse Haruka keeps feeding himself: why would he risk this friendship with Makoto that he values so much above all else in his life? Why would he even consider such an idiotic act? Because somewhere along that road – from the very beginning when they met on the first day of kindergarten class to their teenage days spent gazing at the flying metal birds and the sky surrounding them, up until the day they said goodbye at the airport nine months ago – Haruka has fallen in love with the man standing before him.

 

Recognizing that emotion is the easiest; acknowledging it and then acting upon it is not. Haruka lowers his head, black hair veiling his eyes, and his grip on the metal railing only becomes more tense, knuckles turning white with pressure. Makoto gives him a curious glance, green eyes somehow even brighter in the near violet of darkness.

 

            “What is it?” Makoto fully turns to face the other man, even though Haruka is still staring at the sight before him – the airport’s illumination through the windows glow whiter, more painful and glaring in the evening; the runway lined with dotted white and red lights; and the planes that are ready to take off move with groaning and their multiple eyes blinking with purpose in the dusk.

 

With a hesitant hand, Makoto touches Haruka’s shoulder carefully, eyes full of worry at his friend’s absolute silence and pale complexion. “Haru, what is it that you need to tell me that you can’t wait until I get home?”

 

            Haruka takes a deep breath and lets go of the railing so that he can look at Makoto properly. The blue of his eyes is darker and stormier than the brunet has ever witnessed; the only time he has seen such fire in Haruka’s eyes is when he has decided to become a pilot – that radiance can blot out any uncertainty and brighten up the blackest of doubts.

 

            His whole frame is shaking; it’s a rare sight to see.

 

            ‘Something’s wrong,’ Makoto thinks.

 

            “This will be the last time, Makoto,” Haruka digs out something from his pocket, delicate metal clinking with the swaying motion. In the dimmed yellow lighting of the deck, Makoto sees that it’s another keychain, the silver hoop and chain gleam in contrast to the piece of leather with small texts and floral design stamped on it. The last one, according to Haruka.

 

            “Haru?” He doesn’t really understand; Haruka can read the confusion on the taller man’s quirked brows and uncertain smile. Regardless, Makoto takes the keyring, their fingers brushing lightly, and even with that small touch, Haruka feels his breath stutter.

 

            Upon closer inspection, Makoto realizes that the keyring is purchased at Shakespeare’s Globe, the famous reconstructed Elizabethan theatre that showcases the bard’s many masterpieces. He chuckles, but the finger that caresses the words is reverent. “You do know that I never understand a thing Shakespeare wrote, right?” But he’s going to try anyway, his head bowed in concentration, brows knitted together and voice small and careful as he reads the inscription on the leather.

 

            “Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I… love.” The last word lingers on the tip of his tongue and in Haruka’s ears, floating in the air between them as they breathe in the almost silence.

 

“Um?” is Makoto’s intelligible answer. Even if he’s terrible in English literature, he can at least understand the gist of the quote from _Hamlet_. “Haru, care to explain?” he finally looks up, his cheeks flushed pink and green eyes averted to the left side of Haruka’s face.

 

“Would you like me to translate it line-by-line?” Haruka asks. Makoto nods once, fingers tightening around the keyring.

 

This is his chance to tell Makoto how he feels, though he is somewhat cheating by borrowing from a great wordsmith, but he’s positive that William Shakespeare won’t mind a bit if he’s still around. Good literature is always an excellent conversation starter; Haruka wonders if it has the same effect as opening lines for beginning a romantic relationship.

 

Haruka lets his breath out shakily and reaches out to wrap his fingers loosely around the hand that’s holding the keychain.

 

“You can question whether the stars are fire.” He takes a step forward and into Makoto’s space.

 

“You can question whether the sun does move across the sky.” He places a gentle hand on Makoto’s burning cheeks, guiding him – urging his best friend to look at him, to really, _really_ look.

 

“You can question whether the truth is a liar.” Their breathing is in unison, warm against their skin, their lips. Molten jade caught in burning midnight blue. Haruka’s hand moves to the back of Makoto’s neck as he closes his eyes, throat dry and hot.

 

“But never,” his mouth hovers by the corner of Makoto’s lips, the words imprinting his skin there, and he shivers as he feels Haruka’s quiet sincerity in his tone, “question my love for you.” Haruka backs them up against the fence, one arm braced against the metal, the other hand in Makoto’s brown locks as their lips touch, slow and chaste at first as they taste the words and their sentiment – the new promise.

 

“Took you long enough,” Makoto murmurs with a tiny grin after they part, their foreheads against each other’s and his arms encircling Haruka’s waist to hold him closer so that with every breath they take, their torsos would touch just the slightest.

 

“Thank you for waiting despite my stupidity,” Haruka kisses him once more, just a light peck on the lips even though he wants to do so much more.

 

“I try to keep my promises to the best of my abilities,” Makoto tells him earnestly, “especially when you’re involved, Haru.”

 

Haruka’s embrace on the auburn-haired man becomes even tighter; he wonders why he would ever doubt Makoto in the first place. Everything is so simple: their affection is the slow-burning kind – there is no need for celebratory, obnoxious firework display and they don’t require any elaborate, showy gestures because they’ve known each other for so long that those things are close to meaningless.

 

“So, whose idea was it?” Makoto is detangling himself, but one of his hands remains clasped to Haruka’s; the dark-haired man looks away, blushing in embarrassment.

 

“What do you mean?” Haruka’s fighting a losing battle but it doesn’t mean he’s going to give up.

 

“The quoting Shakespeare bit? It’s very unlike you, Haru,” Makoto glances sideways as they make their way down the stairs, their steps strangely but pleasingly in harmony.

 

“Fine, you caught me,” Haruka rolls his eyes. “It was Nagisa’s idea. He thought it would be romantic. I told him it was silly but he insisted, and I didn’t have a better idea, so –”

 

“I better thank Nagisa when we get home then,” Makoto grins, and Haruka merely shrugs a ‘whatever’.

 

“Wait,” Haruka stops in the middle of the sidewalk on their way to the parking lot as a thought hits him, “We probably shouldn’t go home yet.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Remember how Nagisa always gets after a layover that’s longer than forty-eight hours?” Haruka’s usually impassive face suddenly shows signs of horror.

 

“You mean Nagisa and Rei might be…” Haruka nods furiously before Makoto even finishes his statement.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Want to go grab a bite to eat at the airport instead?”

 

“Anything is better than having to listen in on Nagisa and Rei doing the do,” Haruka assures him as he drags Makoto to the opposite direction they were walking from. His boyfriend – that’s who Makoto is now, right? – laughs in response and lets him lead the way back to the building that’s still glowing with life despite the late hours.

 

Their fingers lace together tighter than ever and it has never felt more right.

 

So long as Makoto’s waiting for him on the solid, sturdy earth, Haruka will always have a reason to return from the boundless freedom of the skies. 


End file.
